


Bonds

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [89]
Category: Ginger Snaps (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Brigitte Gives In, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Sexual Violence, Sister/Sister Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 14:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: They were both covered with pretty scars that told horrible stories, tales that they reiterated with loving tongue, biting kisses, and a sisterly bond that was mutated, not broken, by their growing lack of humanity.
Relationships: Brigitte Fitzgerald/Ginger Fitzgerald
Series: One-Shot [89]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> unedited  
> there's too few of this pairing, so I guess I'll fill the absence with what I want to read.  
> If you've got comments (love it, hate it, wish I'd stick to a normal formatting) let me know, I love reading them.  
> Enjoy!

The broadened flat of her tongue was a roving monstrosity all its own, an explorer revealing new horrors. She came to the conclusion that her teeth didn’t fit inside her mouth and wondered how Ginger had dealt with it when she’d first turned.

It wasn’t much at all like those kids who’d needed braces when they were in school. It wasn’t like the older kids and their wisdom teeth that caused too much pain and pressure. It also wasn’t anything at all like having buck-teeth or a gap between the two in front. This growth wasn’t so regular as the abnormality of supernumerary teeth, either. It wasn’t a mild _fuck you_ from her nutrition or a gene passed down by Henry or Pam.

No, this was _different._ Her teeth simply didn’t fit her jaw, and if she were honest with herself, they didn’t fit her species. They were less like teeth, more like _fangs._ The pointed tips would cut and poke her tongue when she wasn’t paying attention or slice up the inside of her lip, her cheek. They would leave her spitting blood out on the ground, swishing the metallic taste around as if it were something novel, something special. Her voice, already quiet, was now a lisp being forced out through a face that was far more feral than it had any right to be, and the interior changes weren’t helping it either.

Her eyes dropped, rose, and Brigitte followed the harsh slope of her nose; one of the first things to change, for her, had been that expanse of bone and cartilage. It had been nearly last for Ginger, but it appeared they were, no matter what, always going to be somewhat different. The angle was harsh; lupine, irregular, just rough enough that she wouldn’t even have a chance at hiding it. Seclusion was better the closer they came to the week of the full moon, avoidance a better way to circumvent detection. The teeth that were jutting up and past her lips were hard enough to hide even with her hair, and a ratty hoodie, a face that belonged deep within the pages of a pulp horror magazine would never make it past the first glance. Halloween was over now; Ginger’s luck would never work on her.

Not that she would ever be one to bemoan irregular solitude. She had never liked _people_ very much, mainly had been occupied with a single _person._

Now that person was a _thing,_ and that _thing_ was peering back at her from the shattered remnants of the mirror as Brigitte came into her own for the very first time.

“Stop staring.”

Ginger, egged on by the order, just smiled. “I’m not doing anything.”

Ginger wasn’t, and she _was,_ and it was starting to drive Brigitte mad. The wolfish grin on her face, the curving of discoloured lips, the way that Ginger’s eyes - _once average, once regular, once orbs that Brigitte had been so happy to peer into forever_ \- now seemed to abhor looking like anything close to a human colouration. Ginger _was,_ and she _wasn’t._

She was kicking off her rat-chewed boots and glaring, grinning, alternating between something like pain and something like pleasure. Ginger was letting her hair fall in waves of silver-white, her tongue lolling from a shifting mouth as she continued stripping down. Ginger was everything that she had once been and _more,_ and the scent of her was damned near intoxicating to Brigitte.

“Close your fucking legs,” Brigitte growled, twisting away from the mirror and, instead, finding herself something else to stare at.

Unfortunately for her, the wall wasn’t fascinating. Nor was the sudden bout of pain, a lancing heat, that extended from the base of her spine. She needed a seat, and she needed it _now._

Ginger grinned, and Brigitte decided that the floor looked awfully inviting.

A second passed, and she found herself rooted to the ground, the sound of breathing - _panting, really_ \- flooding her ears. Ginger’s voice was a barely restrained growl, deep and incessant, just as piercing as it’d been when she was still human.

“Get the _fuck_ over here.”

Brigitte’s ears hurt at the tips, burned, really. The pale skin went red with the change, the skin and cartilage elongating and warming with something close to shame. She _wanted_ to listen to Ginger, but Ginger was a bitch at heart, a bitch in heat, and the urge to fight her wishes splashed up from somewhere in Brigitte’s heart. It was unbidden, ignorant, a lesson in relations given from the _thing_ lodged deep inside her heart.

“Fuck _you,”_ she growled.

Brigitte had but a single second of warning before Ginger was up off of the couch and pouncing at her back, pushing her, shoving her, pressing Brigitte up against the wall with the heft of her body and pinned wrists. Ginger held her there, gripped tight enough to leave bruises blossoming and then fading away beneath her skin.

“I lead, _you follow,”_ Ginger whispered, harsh and warm. She nipped the edges of Brigitte’s ear, throwing so much emphasis into her following words that Brigitte nearly laughed. “I give an order; you _come.”_

 _Nearly_ laughed, because Brigitte was too focused on the sudden flush of heat between her legs that she was virtually incapable of doing anything but breathing.

Codependency had been reworked into some sort of fucked up hierarchy; Brigitte knew that wolves didn’t follow all the bullshit that was printed out - _and then revised, years later, for stuck up virgins with a hate-boner for women and delusions filled with misogyny_ \- ages ago. Still, there was some sort of ownership at play here. Ginger had been the first to turn, Brigitte the second - _excluding the flesh sack with a prick_ \- one, and now that seemed to mean that, sometimes, she would come undone when her older sister let just a little bit of a deeper timbre invade her voice.

Her heart went _beat-beat-pulse,_ the heat between her legs went _beat-beat-pulse,_ all of her seeming to quicken to the steady thrum of blood. A half-second passed before there was a sudden - _and uncomfortable, but not unwanted_ \- stiffening of her clit, her nipples. Ginger bit down harshly into the meat of Brigitte’s neck, rocked her hips back and forth as though she could, with enough persistent effort, manage to grow a dick and fuck down her sister into blind obedience.

Brigitte wondered if Ginger could manage that if she had the requisite equipment. Fuck her into the ground, grab at the tuft of a tail and pull, angling, for as deep as she could manage.

A bland thought crossed her mind, and Brigitte remembered, for a moment, that sisters weren’t supposed to have ideas like that.

Brigitte arched her back until she could push herself away from the wall and, with a burning effort, found it within herself to twist away. One hand came free from her wrist, and Brigitte curled, lowering, letting Ginger fall forwards toward the wall. Another second, and she had her other wrist free, both hands fumbling for the clasp of Ginger’s torn jeans.

Her fingers were twisting, gnarling, growing daggers from the tips. It took too long, took too much effort, and she settled on shredding Ginger’s old belt. The leather snapped away and fell apart, the buckle clattering to the ground. 

Brigitte let her claws dig into the sides of Ginger’s hips as she hauled down the faded denim to reveal nothing underneath - _because what was even the point of getting fully dressed if she was only going to get undressed or sprout so much hair that she never felt comfortable?_ \- except a spreading tuft of hair. Like all of Ginger, it was slowly turning silver, turning to fur. Brigitte pressed it aside, and, kneeling now, she let the breadth of her new tongue do all the work. Ginger was already a heavily panting mess of a monster, her forehead pressed against the wall and claws running through Brigitte’s hair as she began to pant unevenly with the motion against her core.

The position was a familiar one; they had both spent time perusing adult magazines they’d nicked from the nearest corner store, and though Brigitte had wanted to do this elsewhere, another time, - _maybe_ ** _not_ **_right fucking now, not here, not while she was growing a fucking_ **_tail_ ** \- she kept on with it, burning all the brighter for it and the desire running through her veins. The taste on her tongue was all Ginger, all anger and a muted self-hate. It was heavenly despite all that, and Brigitte let her free hand fall between her own legs, shifting until she could hook Ginger’s right leg over her shoulder for better access.

Ginger was just so _wet,_ so _hot,_ steam rising from between her legs as Brigitte dug her tongue inside, nipped with too-sharp teeth. Above her, Ginger moaned and growled, panting harshly when she became too lost for anything else while a howl was ever-present on the tip of her tongue.

Soon enough that vocalisation was released, and Brigitte found herself unable to resist the urge to join with it. It was a song, a harmony, a duet they’d been practising even before they’d turned traitor to their species. The sound turned guttural, however, as the last bits of the melody faded away amid their shared orgasm.

Ginger removed herself and fell to Brigitte’s level. She had always been the one to do that, especially when no one else would. They were to be together, forever. Alternatively, _dead,_ though that specific term didn’t appear to have much meaning to either of them, not anymore.

The body that Sam had crushed beneath his wheels was gone by the time animal control arrived, and Brigitte had a sinking feeling in the depths of her mind that they’d see them again someday. A knife in the chest hadn’t managed to end Ginger’s existence. A maddened lycanthrope that’d believed herself abandoned hadn’t managed to finish Brigitte’s. 

However, the instances had left them both with pretty scars that told horrible stories, tales that they reiterated with loving tongue, biting kisses, and a sisterly bond that was mutated, not broken, by their growing lack of humanity.

Then Ginger moved in for the kill and shredded apart the old shirt that Brigitte had clothed herself with. The strips of cloth fell to the rotting floorboards and she had, for a single second, a flush of reality. They’d need to purchase new garments soon. The bundle of clothing that she had packed for them both was fast becoming too tattered to wear, and she had never planned on shopping with what she could lift from unsuspecting pockets.

Her lucidity faded, however, once Ginger rolled her onto her back, straddling her waist. She lay there atop Brigitte’s chest and licked the wound she’d made just minutes prior, the cuts fading away to nothing while Ginger cleaned off the blood with a loving tongue. A week until the full moon, and then another month of waiting, changing, acclimatising to the constant flux their bodies now lived with. Brigitte faded into warm slumber with Ginger perched atop her body, the two of them falling to twitching dreams that mirrored their new reality.

Reason and responsibilities faded. Only the two of them remained, now and ever after.


End file.
